


Cook a Goat Lamb With the Goat's Mother's Milk

by earthafromearth



Series: 他们在对方的眼睛里看到了自己的灵魂 [3]
Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Adolescence stupid love, Fluff, M/M, bite me, i sweat to god its all FLUFF, its my hardword, its not pathetic, so please someone read it and talk to me, the boys just cant figure it out, yes i translate my own work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:20:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23343103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthafromearth/pseuds/earthafromearth
Summary: just two teenage boys trying to figure out their feeling
Relationships: Meyer Lansky/Lucky Luciano
Series: 他们在对方的眼睛里看到了自己的灵魂 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1667647
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [山羊奶煮山羊](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23195821) by [earthafromearth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthafromearth/pseuds/earthafromearth). 



> and of course im not an english native speaker  
> so… you know… there maybe some serious English mistake and typo  
> i cant even type Chinese right for god sake…..

Adolescence was as annoying as that board whose makeup was so heavy that seemed to make her impossible to get up from Charlie’s lap.

Meyer was lying motionless on the bed. He took a deep breath. His mother was cooking in the kitchen, the room filled with that rotten smell of stale beans. The sunlight outside the window was dazzling but without any bit of warm. Meyer pressed his arm against his eyes, hard enough to cause his eye sockets hurt, seeing some scattered sparkles in the dark behind his eyelids.

He had dreamed of Sicily. The window leaked, making every pore in his arm shrank tightly and dry, but the sheet was still moist on Meyer's lower abdomen. Meyer's Sicily was a total fake. He had never been exposed to Italian’s hot sun, New York's sun never brought any bit of heat with it, especially in winter. He had never experienced sweat flowed down his spine into the pants, maybe he should go to Cuba later and get some sun. But Charlie was real, Charlie whose hair was wet with sweat and clung to his forehead; Charlie whose whole upper body naked ,vest throwing on his shoulders causally; Charlie whose belly is tight and soft at the same time; Charlie whose pants hanging loosely on his buttocks ; Charlie, who tasted like lucky strikes but more salty … …Charlie could be real, but Charlie who bit Meyer's throat could not be real. A teenage wet dream. Meyer hated adolescence.

"Mey, are you alright? " Meyer heard his mother's voice and sat up quickly. But before he could shake his head, Jake rushed into the room. "Meyer wet his bed!" Shouted that little bustard. His mother blushed faster than Meyer himself. "Charlie want me to see him later." Meyer said, holding the quilt in a pile and putting it in the large basket filled with dirty clothes of the whole family. If mother noticed that he had purposely straightened his arms and put the sheet deliberately in front of his thighs, neither of them say a thing.

Adolescence made the streets of New York even more noisy, and the woman standing at the alley would wink at Meyer as he passed by, as if she could see through Meyer's wet dream at a glance, while Meyer just happened to notice, really accidentally, that the woman's shabby skirt was folded up and smashed into her underwear. The desire was being hit by a truck head-on, and all of a sudden, his pants seemed to be one size smaller, wrapped around his thighs. He lowered his head slightly and looked at himself, taking each step with extreme cautious, heels landed first then the toes, body moving forward with the toes, walking like a normal person, but he knew he had been founded out.

Meyer should have told Benny that he had seen Charlie dined with a woman at that Italian restaurant a week ago. Those two sitting in the corner of the window, and the woman was leaning her legs to Charlie’s under the table, and her toes were touching Charlie's calf bones again and again. He should have told Benny, so that Benny would chase Charlie over and over until Charlie told him all about it, then Meyer would have known who that woman was, "just a broad." Meyer also knew Charlie would say that. But Meyer didn't say a word to Benny. He just stood quietly across the street and a glass window. He stood there and stare quietly for a moment until he caught himself and hurried away, like a normal person.

Maybe the woman dining with Charlie was also a whore who would stand at the alley and show her thighs. Maybe the woman dining with Charlie was a hot mother of someone bets on their dice, or maybe Charlie was like him, just wanting a head from that woman, touching up and down on that smooth thighs. And that woman would cover Charlie's hand with her skirt. He refused to think about what Charlie would look like at that moment, but he knew at heart that Charlie would hold the woman's ass, hugging her and reaching into her underwear. Meyer wasn't just hit by the truck head-on. He was run over by the truck alive, his flesh felling to the ground, unable to save himself and had to wait for death. Desire was becoming more and more violent.

The hat shop Charlie was working for had a "rest" sign on the door, and Meyer stood still in front of it. He dragged his jacket down, picking up the body crushed by the truck with his bare hands, pieced together a decent body again, and pushed in the door.

"In the back!" Meyer heard Charlie's voice coming from the storeroom. As he walked in, he picked up the cigarette and the match Charlie had thrown on the counter. The door to the storage room was half closed, and the dim light leaked out of the crack. Meyer stepped between the light and shadow cast on the floor. He put the lucky strike it in his mouth, but as soon as he struck the match, Charlie pushed the door open and the fire went out.

Meyer glanced at Charlie. Charlie wasn't wearing his blazer, and his trousers' straps were pulling. Although he didn't roll up his sleeves, he unfastened the cuffs, exposing a section of his wrists, and his carpal was just there, easy to reach. Meyer lowered his head, lighting another match, guarding it with his other hand to lit the cigarette. He took a full puff and let the smoke float out of his nose. Even if Charlie knew that Meyer was delaying his time, he just waited quietly. However, even if he didn't say a word, he couldn't be still. He swayed back and forth, raised his chin slightly and looked behind Meyer.

One side of the hat shop was neatly arranged with men's top hats with little difference in style, and the other side was colorful female hats. On the back wall, facing the door, several popular hats were displayed. Charlie took a low-eave newsboy cap and put it on his head, suppressing most of the curly hair that took a lot of work to tame. Meyer blinked; the lining of the hat must have been stained with Charlie's hair gel. This is the patience of the Italians, superficial efforts which would only cause more trouble.

Meyer caught himself again staring at Charlie's face half blocked by his hat. Charlie was older than Meyer, but still had a little baby fat on his face. That somehow made his cheekbones a little more obvious. He looked like a cub, but the reality was that the fangs had already grown. You think he was cute, however, the moment you reached to him, he would twist his head and bite you so hard you would scream until you lost your voice It wasn't until Charlie took Meyer’s arm and pulled him into the room and the smoke ashes fell on Meyer's hand, he suddenly came back to reality. But the smoke had already fallen to the ground. Fuck.

"Something happened to the joint?" His voice was a little husky. He just smoked too hard. That had to be it.

"There gotta have a problem? I can't ..." Charlie pushed Meyer in front of him. "Just want to have a late lunch with you?"

The storage room had been originally well-organized. Rows of hat boxes had been piled up like rows of walls. Between each row there had been a line of empty space just enough for one person to walk through. Now all the boxes were pushed together, tightly close to the wall. Many boxes protruded or inserted obliquely. However, there were several boxes neatly piled in the middle of the vacated field, like a small coffee table, and there were a few kraft paper bags on it. Meyer glanced at Charlie. Charlie was like a kid squatted next to the Christmas tree, couldn’t help but laughing slyly, waiting for others to open their gifts. Meyer took the bags with different trademarks on it, opening them one by one. Cheese buns, bacon, pickles … … he took out the food and put it on the top of the boxes. Out of the corner of Meyer’s eyes, Charlie smiled like a weasel who had caught the mouse. Meyer took a deep breath and folded the paper bag, neatly lowering it along the edge of the boxes.

Meyer could be seen by whoever was dealing with them as a child whose hair hadn’t grown; he could be seen by a neighbor as a rogue kid who doesn't learn well; and he could even be seen as a shop seconder who could be bullied at will, but he was not Charlie’s prey, the mouse in the weasel's mouth He just was not.

He knew that Charlie wouldn't invite others to dinner for no reason, because he was just like Meyer in his bones and heart. So, what was all this about? I asked you to a fine dinner together so later you would go to a cheap hotel with me?

"It's all kosher." Charlie put a hand on Meyer's shoulder and walked to Meyer's side. He grabbed the cheese from the hat box, and weighed the rectangular bars wrapped in foil in his hand. "Good stuff from uptown." Meyer turned to look at Charlie, and Charlie was smiling so wide that his canine teeth appeared. "Where did you get the money to go uptown and buy food like those?" He heard his voice without a trace of undulation, but Charlie still smiled as if he had secretly hidden lump sugar under his tongue. "I'm good at bargaining.” Charlie threw the cheese on the table, as if it was a hammer from the auction house. Once the hammer is downed, the deal is done.

Meyer squeezed his lips tightly, and Charlie's hand on his shoulders kept him warm for most of his body, as if he was basking in the Sicilian sun. He twisted, and fled stiffly from Charlie to the other side of the table. "You and I both know how you are good at bargaining," he said dryly. He tried to pretend that nothing had happened, but Charlie refused to let him go. He walked to Meyer again, grabbing Meyer's shoulders with both hands, looking down at Meyer, putting Meyer under the newsboy hat he was sneaking on his head. Damn Italian. "What's wrong?" Charlie's hands moved to the sides of Meyer's neck, and Meyer had to raise his head. "Tell me what's wrong, little man, it can't be because of that pile of food."

"You can't cook goat lambs with goat's mother's milk." Meyer whispered, slowing down every byte, as if teaching a baby to speak.

"Meyer." Meyer could feel Charlie holding him harder. It was a warning, a question, and it was Charlie's finger that struck Meyer's skin. Charlie leaned on a fruit tree. The air in Sicily was filled with the sweet smell of citrus and lemon after maturity. He grabbed Meyer's arm and arched his back slightly to lick Meyer's neck and shoulder, exactly where Charlie was holding him now. Meyer didn't know if he was really trembling, but he was trying hard to restrain himself and make him look like a decent businessman, not a stinky boy whose nerves were immersed in hormones. He breathed hard and slowly, taking a small step away carefully. This time, Charlie let go. Although New York is not as cold as Grodno, who had been exposed to a Sicilian’s sun would of course be spoiled.

"I saw you dining with a woman in that Italian restaurant of Masseria." Meyer said fiercely of the word Masseria, but Masseria was not the reason for everything, the name was nothing but said along the way. That’s only Meyer's futile struggle. Meyer knew, obviously Charlie knew as well.

Charlie left out a laugh, and Meyer glared at him. "Little man!" Charlie bent down and patted Meyer's face with his arms stretched out. "It's just a broad, what's the big deal?" Charlie's answer was exactly what Meyer had thought, Meyer knew Charlie, with his eyes closed, his would know where Charlie would go next, which is the worst of adolescent fucking agitation.

Charlie's words were more of an insult than a refusal. Meyer wasn't a captured prey. Meyer wasn't a prostitute standing on the street, bored and playing with her fingers, and Meyer wasn't a cheap whore for Charlie to dine at a fake but fancy restaurant. And now they were in the storage room of a hat shop without even a decent table.

Charlie was still waiting for Meyer's response. Meyer had rushed over. He bumped into Charlie with his shoulders. Charlie was slammed backwards and hit the piled hat boxes. The top boxes fell off, as well as the newsboy hat Charlie wore. The newsboy cap fell on the ground and was covered with a layer of gray ashes. Meyer knew that Charlie would be scolded for this, and Charlie couldn't do anything except to admit it. Good.

Charlie stood up against the boxes behind him. His hair was completely messed up, curled up next to the temple. He arched his shoulders, arms behind him. He was calculating whether to attack or retreat, counterattack or let the matter go. Meyer didn't want to let it go, so he pushed Charlie again. Charlie got to firmly grasp Meyer’s arm this time, Meyer raised his knee and kicked it against Charlie's stomach fiercely. his calf was crippled over Charlie's thigh. Charlie snorted painfully, "Fuck." He heard Charlie scold, and was thrown to the ground almost at the same time. Meyer's back was on the concrete floor tears accumulate in the corners of his eyes, and the hat on the ground deformed in his afterglow. He suddenly wanted to laugh. Charlie's knees rested besides Meyer’s thighs; Meyer's wrists were firmly grasped. Charlie pressed him to the ground, the back of Meyer’s knuckles shattered on the cold ground. "What is this all about? Just because I took a girl to dinner? Didn't I have dinner with you all the time? On your Jewish street!"

"I won't step on your fucking crotch with my feet under the table!" Meyer lifted himself up, but Charlie just pushed him back again.

"Aren’t I sure of that? You just gave me a fucking punch! All because I specially grabbed something nice for you!"

"Fuck you, Luciano!"

This time was Charlie who laughed, short like he choked a mouthful of water. He released Meyer's wrist first. Meyer rubbed the back of his swollen hand. After Charlie saw that Meyer didn't plan to give him another punch, he jumped up to the other side of the room. Meyer sat up on the same spot but didn't stand up. He held his knees to his chest and curled up into a small group on the ground like a child. Charlie turned his back to him, muttering something in Italian, patting his pockets for his cigarette. Meyer took out his own and threw it towards Charlie's back. The cigarette case fell at Charlie's feet. Charlie picked it up, popping one in his mouth, and walked back to sit next to Meyer. "It is not that easy." He handed the cigarette to Meyer. Meyer raised his eyes and waited for him to continue, "You're different, do you understand?" Meyer understands, but at the same time he didn’t understand at all.

"Fuck, I even don't have to tip when I go to Massaria’s little restaurant." They took turns and the cigarette was smoked to its butt. Charlie threw it on the ground and pick another one, "Massaria thinks I'm the next golden boy or some shit." Meyer heard a smirk and said, "Yeah, fuck those old farts!" Charlie finished. He lay down on the ground, picked up the dirty newsboy hat, and nudged it into his chest, but he just pressed the dirt deeper into the texture of the hat, "Fuck." He cursed and clasped the hat on Meyer's head, Meyer immediately grabbed it and threw it out.

"Dairy products are not supposed to be eaten with meat in Judaism." Meyer said quietly. Charlie propped himself up with his elbow. "You can't cook goat lamb with the milk of a goat's mother." Meyer repeated his words before, Charlie hummed, "Then eat the pickles, like I give a fuck."

"You do not give a fuck?"

"Look, I'm only getting these foods because you're Jewish, and I don't give an honest shit about whatever nonsense they say in that book of yours. That book is as thick as a brick, you know." Charlie touched Meyer with his shoulder. Meyer used the half-burned cigarette butt to put on a new one. "I don't care about the shit rules that godfathers or bosses have to follow. I know what I can do. That good enough for me," Charlie snatched the cigarette from Meyer. All of a sudden, no one speak. Meyer heard what Charlie said and his brain just refuse to work.

"Are you going to kiss me or not?” That’s all Charlie can wait,” Or, we could eat ……”

"You fucking dago!" Meyer cursed, grabbing Charlie's collar and dragging him to himself. "Hey! Where did that come from? I didn’t even call you a Kike!”."


	2. Chapter 2

When Charlie first met Meyer, Charlie was just fifteen or sixteen, and Meyer was still a small, scraggy boy. Adolescence was like that, feelings rushing to your head, all at the same time, Charlie wanted to bully this little boy; wanted to protect this little boy; wanted to be away while wanting to be close; wanted to fight and hug at the same time. Charlie had been missing that chaotic but direct impulse. As he approached the life he wanted, things actually became simpler and simpler, leaving only the business.

But Meyer was different. When he saw Meyer, he always felt that impulse which he had grown familiar but still could not find the right word to describe, like a sub-consciousness. He was both the predator and the prey. He was about to attacked but being attacked at the same time. he was about to punch but retreating at the same time. He couldn’t have a say about Meyer, but also couldn’t have a say about himself. When he walked out of that uptown fancy grocery store, he stood on the clean sidewalk, holding a pile of kraft paper bags in one hand. He looked down at the empty hand which was stilling holding his punch. He told himself to relax. The red and swollen joints were stretched, beginning to sore. He didn't know what he was doing. It was like returning to puberty. He was hard in the back alley just because one or two cheap prostitutes eyed him on the street. His actions ruled his body, not his brain, and his need and impulses were stronger than his mind and logic. He was left only with his intuition. But in the end, that's what keeps him alive, doesn't it? Except for children, like Meyer, to be precise, except for Meyer, dago kids here in America has to survive on their intuition. They were like cubs without parents, yet too young to have a proper gang. To which, Charlie would say that he had done pretty well so far.

Meyer, his Meyer, was now trapped under him. Charlie's arms were on both sides of Meyer's body, and Meyer was holding his collar, pulling Charlie down to his body. Their noses are barely touching and both of them stopped. Charlie felt as if he had returned to the first few years when he had just gone to the United States, as if everything was weird, and he didn't know what to do next. Charlie met Meyer's eyes. Meyer didn't look like any women he had scored. He didn’t close his eyes and he didn't seem to be at a loss at all. In the contrary, he was so sure about this, which was a little bit terrifying, if someone had to be honest. They looked at each other quietly, and Charlie didn't even know if he was breathing until Meyer's eyes dropped.

Charlie could feel Meyer's gaze resting on his lips, like a gift waiting to be opened. Although it was just a look, it was heavy. Charlie felt like he was the younger one, everything written on his face. Maybe it was just that the Jews were naturally better at it. Charlie couldn't help but stick out his tongue to lick his own lips, but what he did was he lean forward and his tongue rested between their lips. Meyer's lips were dry and soft. Meyer loosened his hand holding Charlie's collar, and instead held firmly on the back of Charlie's neck. Several hairs were run over by Meyer, and Charlie gasped. Meyer immediately froze.

Meyer's eyes widened and he looked at Charlie like a weasel running across the middle of the road, arched in front of the lights, erected the soft fur on his back, tightened the muscles of his limbs, and made a threatening sound, but in fact the weasel dare not move. Charlie held Meyer's cheek in his palm and could not held his laughter back. That’s a bad move. Meyer lifted his legs and tried to kicked Charlie. Charlie grabbed Meyer's waist and rolled them over to lie on their side. He tried to pull Meyer back, but Meyer did not give up and managed to kicking his side, not hard enough to hurt but enough for Charlie to be tickled. He finally released Meyer to catch his own breath.

"Nothing goes easy on you, huh? " Charlie had a pain in his shoulder, and he twisted his body near Meyer, who wrinkled his nose when he heard Charlie's words.

"You taste like an ashtray."

"And you think you taste any better?"

Charlie grabbed Meyer's wrist and let him firmly grasp his short hair on the back of his neck. Meyer raised his body slightly, Charlie let go of Meyer, held Meyer's cheek, and thumbed down Meyer's lower jaw, rubbing his lips. Meyer stuck out his tongue, and touched the tip of Charlie's fingertips. He tried and pull Charlie's hair back with delicacy. Charlie was so close to Meyer that there was no way he could hide his tremble. Meyer held his breath like he was in front of some miracle. Charlie couldn’t help but leaned forward again to lick Meyer's lips like a little puppy demanding more attention. Meyer yanked Charlie's hair again. This time Charlie moaned.

Charlie lowered his head, his forehead rested on Meyer's shoulder and Meyer's chin rested on top of Charlie's head. Charlie twisted upwards, his hair already out of the gel. Little Meyer sneezed and felt Charlie smiling against him.

"Shut up," Charlie said before Meyer, unbuttoning him then reaching into Meyer's pants. Not because of Charlie’s words but the warm embrace himself, Meyer opened his mouth but quickly shut it. Charlie lifted his head with a smile, Meyer bit his lip as he also reached into his pants, taking Charlie's wrist and gently covering it with his own. He was a baby cheetah hiding in the grass, watching to learn how to bite into gazelle's neck. Charlie tried move his hand and gave Meyer a simply taste of what was gonna happen. Baby cheetah was thrown directly into the wilderness with his neck strapped Meyer moan quietly. Charlie's hands were rough and warm. It didn’t take long for Meyer to made a mess. Meyer lost totally lost control, maybe he had long lost it but he couldn’t think. He didn’t want to think. His pants were crumpled under his knees. His own sticky fluid was all over Charlie's fingers, and were smashed into Charlie's palms. Everything was slimy. The loose hem of Meyer's shirt covered Charlie, moving with Charlie’s hand every step Their bare skin was stained with floating dirt on the ground, but no one had extra energy to give a shit.

Every time Charlie touch over Meyer, Meyer could clearly feel the cocoon on Charlie's fingers repeatedly tortured his sensitive and moist skin. He was like a dehydrated dying fish. He breathed against Charlie's neck but still felt suffocated. Charlie suddenly straightened his fingers, stroking his perineum as if he was fingering a girl, like a kitten played with a wool ball. The muscle, which had always been neglected, spasmed. Meyer shivered. He had been loosely holding Charlie's wrist but right now had to grasping it tightly, like that’s the only lifeline, clasping his nails into Charlie's skin. Charlie didn't care, barely feeling the pain. His extended index finger caressed that poor delicate skin slowly but forcefully. The caressed soon became rubbing. Meyer was holding Charlie tightly during the climax, making a series of sobbing sounds with her mouth half open. His saliva wet Charlie's shirt collar, while Charlie was still touching him gently. It wasn't until Meyer couldn't shoot any more but shivered nonstop, Charlie then let him go. Meyer curled in Charlie’s embrace and Charlie patted Meyer along his own heartbeat like he was kidding a child to sleep.

They lay there for a while, maybe a few minutes, maybe hours. They were lying on the hard-concrete ground, their shoulders and cheekbones cold, but they just got closer to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey i finished this translation (actually there is still one chapter but i feel it should be its own short fanfic and now i have a chance so......)  
> and i know my english is kinda weird and broken but actually its not my english is really that bad...... its not good either, but whatever.  
> just my chinese is just the same level of weird and broken.......
> 
> and seriously i never find write porn difficult when im using chinese  
> but english porn is fucking hard
> 
> so if you find some sentences are too wrong to understand or just too strange, tell me straight and i will correct it asap
> 
> any feed back is welcomed, seriously.  
> im just a little puppy waiting for my attention, okay?

**Author's Note:**

> yes i translate my own work  
> just because i know there gotta be more people still want to read some fanfic about those two  
> and I want to make friends, okay?  
> so comment or kodus is highly welcomed  
> and there is my tumblr: https://aphid-thegoat.tumblr.com/


End file.
